


Home Invasion

by katikat



Series: Close Encounters of the MacGyver Kind [1]
Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-25 19:15:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13841250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katikat/pseuds/katikat
Summary: Detective Greer is accosted in his own home. But then the intruder swoons like a Victorian lady and drops into his arms. What the ever-loving hell? Greer’s POV. (Unbeta'd)





	Home Invasion

**Author's Note:**

> Set after episode 211. Detective Greer was played by Bruce McGill.

Greer is tired. He’s tired, annoyed and his knees are giving him hell, and after sifting through the dregs of society for twelve hours straight, he doesn’t want to see another human being for the next eight hours. Because that’s when he has to be back again, at his desk and in the field.

Screw it. He wants a beer.

And that’s when there’s a dull thump at the front door of his run-down house - the only thing The Harpy, as he aptly nicknamed his ex-wife, left him - and the doorbell goes nuts. It doesn’t  _ding-dong_ just once, as it’s set to do, no sir, it goes on and on and  _on_ , indicating that someone’s leaning against the damn thing.

Stomping angrily towards the source of that godawful noise, Greer twists the doorknob and throws the door open, a curse on his lips - and suddenly, he has an armful of…  _someone_ , some  _guy_ \- young, white and blond, his mind registers - and he’s stumbling back inside the house, thrown off balance by the weight that suddenly dropped on him.

“What the hell?” Greer yelps, instinctively catching the intruder - who manages to kick the door close before going limp in his arms.

Greer stands there for a moment, in the middle of his own living room, blinking stupidly and holding some wobbly stranger who has yet to utter a word.  _Jesus ever-loving Christ!_

He’s about to just drop the guy when he looks down. And then he blinks some more, his jaw going slack, because he recognizes him, the man, even through the layer of blood-encrusted grime.

Greer has arrested more people than he cares to remember during his career but Angus MacGyver, him he’ll remember as long as he lives. It doesn’t happen every day that you arrest someone for terrorism only to have him save your life few hours later.

But what now? Considering MacGyver’s one of the good guys - Greer thinks, well,  _hopes_ so - and also considering he looks like death warmed over, he can’t just  _drop_  him as he planned to do. So… so, he shakes the kid in a rather lame attempt to rouse him.

“Hey, kid,” Greer grumbles. “MacGyver.  _Hey_!”

Another shake, a stronger one, seems to do the trick. MacGyver’s eyelids flutter open and he lifts his head from Greer’s chest. Then, with a confused, “Wha–?” he tries to get back to his feet. Which is a good thing because Greer’s back’s yelling murder at him.

“You okay?” Greer asks, concerned, when MacGyver finally stands up because he’s still listing heavily to one side. “Maybe you should sit down,” he suggests.

MacGyver blinks, then he tries to shake his head and hisses, scrunching his face in pain. “If I sit down, I might not get back up again,” he mumbles, touching the bloody spot on the right side of his forehead .

“If you don’t  _sit_ down, you’ll  _fall_ down,” Greer points out reasonably.

Pausing, MacGyver seems to think it over. “True,” he admits then and allows Greer to guide him to a chair into which he sinks down very slowly. Then he looks up and squints at Greer for a moment. “Detective Greer?” he asks, puzzled. “What are you doing here?”

Greer goggles at him. “What am  _I_ doing here? This is my house! It was  _you_ who barged in and swooned like a Victorian lady!”

MacGyver stares at him a moment longer. “Oh,” he says finally. “Sorry about that. My head-my head hurts.”

Greer frowns at the still bleeding wound on the kid’s forehead. The blood’s dripping down onto his shirt - which is torn and bloody in other places, too - and onto the strap of a messenger bag that’s slung across his chest and dangling at his side. Greer doesn’t like the look of the kid at all.

“I should call 911,” he says, reaching for the cellphone in his pocket.

But MacGyver grips his hand. “No cops!” he tells Greer firmly.

Greer stares at him in disbelief. “ _I_ am a cop,” he reminds him.

“But you know!” MacGyver states.

“Know what?” Greer asks, his voice climbing.

“About me - us. You know,” MacGyver replies, looking… well, rather pathetic, if Greer’s being honest. How he could’ve ever thought this guy was a terrorist…

He sighs. “Fine. No cops. But let me at least call an ambulance–”

But MacGyver shakes his head again, hissing  _again_. Under the grime he turns five shades paler. If he pukes on Greer’s carpet, there will be hell to pay!

“No ambulance. But can I borrow your phone, please?” MacGyver asks politely. “I need to call Jack.”

Greer wants to ask who Jack is. But then he remembers Mr. Not-Lawyer, the guy in black tactical gear with a machine gun and a bad attitude. Probably Jack, he figures.

“What happened to  _your_ phone?” he asks just to be obtuse. He’s entitled.

“I, ah, I used it to set off a bomb?” MacGyver answers honestly, still looking up at him.

“Another one?” Greer exclaims. What is it with this kid and bombs?!

With a put-upon sigh, he hands over his cellphone but seeing MacGyver fumble and squint hard again, Greer takes it back and orders the kid to just tell him the number, he’ll dial it himself.

The phone rings once, twice. Then comes a belligerent snap, “What?!” Oh, yeah. Mr. Not-Laywer.

“This is Detective Greer,” he announces himself. “I think I have something of yours here.” And without waiting for the guy’s response, he hands his phone over to MacGyver.

“Jack,” the kids breathes out, closing his eyes, and his whole body seems to slump in relief. “Yeah, I got away. Yeah. Yeah, I have it. Can you– Thanks. I’m at–” He rattles off the address and then, with a promise to stay put, he hangs up and returns the phone to Greer. “Thanks.”

Greer takes it and glares. “Why are you here? And how did you even know where I live?”

MacGyver shrugs. “Your place was the safest in the neighborhood for me after… well. And we had you checked out. We needed to know you could be trusted.”

Trusted? Greer thinks, affronted, ignoring the first part of that statement for the time being. The audacity! Here’s a shady guy, working for a shady organization, doing shady things and he doubts  _Greer’s_ trustworthiness?

But before Greer can tell the kid to take his concussion outside and wait for his ride there, thank you very much, MacGyver tries to wipe the blood off his face with the back of his hand - only to smear it around and make it look even more ghastly. And suddenly the idea of yelling at him doesn’t seem as appealing.

“That must’ve been some fight,” Greer comments grumpily.

MacGyver looks down at his hand and when he sees all the blood, he grimaces. “Well. I got punched and thrown out of a second-floor window. Jack will have my hide for that, I promised to wait for him…”

Greer’s jaw drops again but before he can ask or say anything more, there’s the sound of tires screeching outside and a second later - or so it seems to him - the front door bursts open and Mr. Not-Lawyer, once more in his tactical gear minus the machine gun, barges in.

“Mac!” apparently Jack exclaims the moment he sees the kid - to Greer he pays no attention at all, of course, and why should he, it’s just his damn house, after all! - and rushes towards him, dropping to his knees in front of MacGyver’s chair.

MacGyver gives him a pale smile. “Hi, Jack…”

Jack checks the kid’s wound and hisses sharply through his teeth. “Jesus, buddy! Didn’t I tell you to wait for me? How can you be the Brain if it dribbles out of your ears?!”

Grimacing a little, MacGyver whispers, “Sorry.”

Jack sighs and shakes his head in resignation. Then he changes tracks and asks, "You said you had it?”

Humming, MacGyver drags his messenger bag into his lap. He opens the flap and pulls out–

Greer inhales sharply. “What the hell’s that?” he exclaims when he sees the silvery cylinder with very ominous and very visible biohazard warnings on it.

Jack throws him a grim look. “Something you didn’t see and you know nothing about, detective,” he states firmly. Then he turns back to MacGyver and gently helps him out of the chair, letting the kid lean against him when his knees turn wobbly again. “Come on, buddy. Up and at them.”

“You’ll tell me what the hell’s going on here right this minute!” Greer demands angrily as he follows the two of them back to the open front door.

“No, we won’t,” Jack states over his shoulder, his face darkly amused.

Greer grits his teeth. “I’m a cop! Whatever happened, I’ll find out tomorrow anyway.”

“No, you won’t,” Jack replies, still grinning.

Greer can feel himself flush with anger and he opens his mouth to yell at them, to threaten them with-with  _something_ \- right, because that turned out so well the last time he tried that - to arrest them and let the higher-uppers sort it all out–

When MacGyver stops and turns around, Jack’s arm still around his shoulders. “Detective Greer,” he says not unkindly, “we got what we were after. And that’s why you won’t ever hear anything about what happened tonight. When we win, people never know.”

Greer regards him a moment longer, then he deflates. Jesus, how does the kid do it that he always manages to pull the rug from under Greer’s feet?  _Damn it._

Hoisting MacGyver up a little, Jack offers Greer his hand. “Thanks, detective. Really. Thank you for helping, Mac. If something happened to him–” He cuts himself off, both his voice and his expression full of emotions.

“Yeah,” Greer says, shaking the guy’s hand. “You’re welcome. For…  _whatever_.”

Nodding, Jack No-Last-Name leads MacGyver out the front door and down the front steps and the cracked pathway towards his car, rumbling softly at the curb. He helps MacGyver get in - the kid turns and nods at Greer with a little smile - then Jack jumps in himself and sets off, much more slowly and carefully than when he arrived a few minutes before.

Greers stands there, on his front porch, and stares after them for a long while, still a little dumbfounded by what just happened. For the briefest of moments, he considers calling it in anyway. But then he just shakes his head and laughs.

Screw it. He wants a beer.

Still chuckling, Greer goes back inside and closes the door.


End file.
